


Broken Crown

by kopperblaze



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, kind of fix-it fic?, warnings for goldsickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:50:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopperblaze/pseuds/kopperblaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick something I wrote as a warm-up exercise, inspired by Mumford and Sons' "Broken Crown"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>"Kili." Even his careful whisper rings too loud in the silence of Erebor's empty halls. He puts a finger to Kili's lips, shushing him before Kili can ask half-awake questions.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>"We're leaving.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Crown

* * *

 

_Touch my mouth and hold my tongue  
I'll never be your chosen one _

"And one day the throne will be yours. Erebor will be yours, Fili."

Fili nods, as he always does when his uncle speaks of Erebor, speaks of ancient history and a make-belief future. His tone is full of awe and longing as he stares into the fire, whereas Fili struggles not to fall asleep. He has grown up to tales of the mountain, but that's all they are to him - tales. Like the stories their mother told them about the snappers that hunt little dwarflings in the woods after dark, should they still be out past their bedtime.

Sometimes he feels bad about it, guilty that he can't find it in himself to care more for their long lost home. But how can he care for something he never knew? His home is a cabin in Ered Luin, much too small for mother, Kili, uncle and him, but that's the way it has always been. Fili finds comfort in the scratches in the wood Kili and him carved, in the small spaces he knows inside out. They may not have much, but they have enough.

_Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie_

"Watch and learn, Fili, for one day you will be king."

"Yes, uncle."

Fili watches and Fili learns, attends his lessons dutifully. He does it because it’s easier than protesting and resisting it. And who knows, maybe one day his skills will be useful. Maybe one day people will call him 'Prince' and not mean it as a mockery.

Sometimes his mother smiles at him like she sees right through his charade. It's a sad smile but also oddly grateful, and she'll take his hand and squeeze it gently, like she wants to thank him for pretending.

_I will not speak of your sin there was a way out for him_

Thorin is troubled, as anyone going through the trauma he has gone through, witnessing what he has witnessed would be. When Fili was young sometimes Thorin would not speak or eat for days. Other times he would scream and break their meagre belongings. His mother tried to shield Fili from it, sending him to play outside or to ask Mister Dwalin about one thing or another. His young mind could not understand it, but Fili remembers the heavy feeling in his chest, the burning of his eyes as he listened to Thorin scream and his mother plead. He remembers her hastily covering up bruises on her arms with the sleeves of her worn tunic.

They never spoke of it, and with Kili's birth the episodes grew fewer and fewer. But Fili hasn’t forgotten, and as he watches the intensity grow in Thorin's eyes the closer they get to the mountain, the more he remembers.

He loves his uncle, always has and always will, but the dwarf madly digging through gold, mumbling to himself, is not his uncle.

_But oh my heart was flawed I knew my weakness  
So hold my hand consign me not to darkness_

"Kili." Even his careful whisper rings too loud in the silence of Erebor's empty halls. He puts a finger to Kili's lips, shushing him before Kili can ask half-awake questions.

"We're leaving."

Kili's eyes widen. "What?" he hisses, sitting up with sleepy gracelessness.

"We're leaving," Fili repeats, nodding towards their already packed bags. He has left nothing up to chance. He has watched and observed and he has learned. They only have one chance of escape.

"But...why?" Kili asks, growing in insistence as he rises to his knees. His eyes flick from Fili to the door leading to Thorin’s room and he worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

"I made a promise," Fili replies curtly and thrusts Kili's coat at him. His blood is alight with nerves, a strange feeling between euphoria and devastation causing his hands to shake as he clasps Kili’s shoulder, wills his brother to look at him. “Do you trust me?"

Kili nods, his eyes wide and confused in the flickering light of the lantern. He puts on his coat and slips on his shoes, buckling them up without making a sound.

Turning away Fili exhales and squares his shoulders. He has made a promise. Not to Thorin, but to their mother. He promised to protect Kili from harm, even if that means protecting him from Thorin himself.

_So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down  
I'll never wear your broken crown_

It’s pitch-black outside, even the stars cloaked by thick clouds. Fili fleetingly thinks that there is nothing heroic about this, that there will never be songs written about them. They are traitors now, deserters, and should Thorin succeed and hold Erebor through the impending war they will be wanted. Theirs might be a life on the run, all dreams of comfortable beds and warm halls disappearing into thin air. But Fili will take it, a small price to pay for his brother’s life.

“Careful,” he mumbles when Kili nearly slips and falls. They have to fumble their way through the darkness, not even the moon lighting their way, a lantern far too dangerous a thing to have with the surrounding lands crawling with enemies.

By the time the sun rises, red and heavy, they have made it to Dale. Kili stops and turns, gazing at Erebor in the distance, the first light of day bathing the mountain in warmth. Fili gives him a moment and says his own farewells, closing his eyes and bringing the silver pendant he wears to his lips, the metal cool against the cracked skin. His mother gave it to him when he was but twenty, and under the crushing weight of his actions he tries to draw strength from it.

Fili counts ten heartbeats before he opens his eyes and reaches for Kili’s hand, tugging gently. "We need to keep going."

They stumble through the shadows, holding hands, and eventually Erebor fades behind them.


End file.
